


Where the Wild Ivy Grows

by Kikimay



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, OT3, Post-Chosen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1745015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikimay/pseuds/Kikimay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rome. Buffy's birthday. The great priviledge of dating two hot and immortal vampires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Wild Ivy Grows

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Where the Wild Ivy Grows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720970) by [Kiki (Kikimay)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikimay/pseuds/Kiki). 



> Quote from "Desire", Anna Calvi. English translation of an old Spuffel fic, corrected and reposted.

 

 

  
_It's just a door to the devil in disguise gathered_  
_Taking me by the hand_  
_And leading me, leading me off to the fire_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The chasm of lava was a bleeding gash in the folds of the Earth. Noisy, smelly, narrow and deep enough to kill those who slipped. First sign of the upcoming apocalypse, the irreplaceble event for a good start of the new year.  
  
Buffy wiped her face with an angry gesture. The dust and the soot were prickling her eyes. In a moment she bitterly recalled the words of the expert in logistics, who advised her about wearing a synthetic mask. She had nodded and then hidden the mask in her bag. The color didn’t suit her.  
  
“Oh well,” she muttered in a low voice, ready to jump.  
  
The slayer levered on her left leg and threw herself over the chasm, guided by her instinct more than her sight. She landed on the platform where the demons were collecting the eggs to finish their ritual and engaged a tough fight against two of them, before receiving help from the other slayers. She managed to kill them both.  
  
“All right, Buffy?”  
  
She turned and nodded to Satsu, who was looking at her.  
  
“All right,” she declared with a reassuring smile.  
  
The girls started to collect the eggs. Buffy left them to their work.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
In the locker room the Chosen One stripped off her blouse drenched in sweat and dust. The mirror revealed the new bruises, the scratches and the abrasion caused by the fight. Buffy pressed her fingers against her ribs to make sure that nothing was broken, then rubbed her aching shoulders.  
  
She removed the bra.  
  
Keeping her right arm on her side, she ran her fingers in her armpit conscientiously feeling the skin. She touched the entire circumference of her breast, paying particular attention to the tissue in the center of her chest.  
  
She repeated the process, just to be sure. Then she completely undressed and took a hot shower.  
  
  
  
  
  
A taxi was waiting for her. Buffy smiled at the driver and got inside. Took off her sunglasses to admire the view.  
  
The golden glow of the sunset was embracing Rome. Everything was calm and majestic. From the arches of the Colosseum the sunlight was filtering in the streets and the emperors’ statues were almost shining from the flashes. The bells of a distant church were ringing and in a desert ground some children were running behind a soccer ball.  
  
Not a cloud on the horizon. The sky looked like a huge painting of shades and contrasts between the pink and the blue, harmonious and vibrant.  
  
The Chosen One closed her eyes, satisfied. She dialed on the phone a number she knew by heart.  
  
“Giles?” she asked, as soon as she heard his voice. “I’m going home. Apocalypse averted.”  
  
_“I heard, Buffy. You were great,”_ he replied, sounding relieved. _“Of course you’ll have to eliminate the trolls who stole the eggs … but I’m sure it wouldn’t be particularly challenging.”_  
  
“And that’s when I thought that I’ve got everything solved! Shouldn’t be this the time of cookies or something, before I get back into action?” Buffy joked, picturing Giles’ amused expression.  
  
_“It was a fine job. Really,”_ he replied quietly. “ _Enjoy your well-deserved rest and the rest of this special day.”_  
  
“Thank you, Giles.” Buffy whispered ending the conversation.  
  
She dialed another phone number and just sent a message: _‘I love you.’_ In response she received a picture of Dawn grinning with a chocolate cake on her hands. ( _‘I know’_ ) She smiled thinking about her sister celebrating across the ocean.  
  
_‘I’ll be back soon’_ , she added looking at the beauty of Rome, where she spent her first holiday after the destruction of Sunnydale. Dawn had loved the eternal city and she had loved to see Dawn happy.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“It’s me!” the slayer announced, closing the door behind her.  
  
The apartment was placed in a neighborhood surrounded by green ivy and inhabited by a colony of cats who, from time to time, liked to climb on the residents’ balconies.  
  
The hall was quiet. Heavy curtains were placed on the windows and the shadows on the marble floor cooled the rooms.  
  
Buffy took off her shoes and drank some water. She reached a wall where were laying some portraits in charcoal. She grabbed one where she was depicted while sleeping. She felt a shiver down her spine.  
  
“Angelus is always a creep,” said a masculine, deep voice behind her.  
  
Buffy laughed and turned around.  
  
She walked over Spike, who was looking at her with his usual irreverent, affectionate expression. She kissed him hard.  
  
“You just foiled an apocalypse,” he murmured on her lips. “Why didn’t you call?”  
  
The Chosen One shook her head. “It wasn’t anything special, really. The usual cosmic apocalypse … _of the neighborhood._ I learned to handle these things.”  
  
Spike nodded, hugged her tiny body and kissed her again. “ _Happy birthday_ , love,” he whispered breaking the kiss just to show her a huge bouquet of red roses.  
  
Buffy blushed. “You shouldn’t have.”  
  
“Of course we did,” replied another male voice. Softer.  
  
The slayer turned around and Angel was behind, approaching her slowly. His chest and half of his face were wrapped in darkness, but his eyes were shining with a warm light.  
  
Buffy pulled away from Spike, caressed his cold lips before getting up on her toes and kissing them.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The sun had set and the curtains were pushed aside to reveal the starry sky of Rome, nestled between the hills.  
  
Lying on the bed, Buffy was nibbling a chocolate cake, looking towards the orange cat who was moving on her balcony like a silent sentinel.  
  
“Tell me about St. Petersburg,” she suddenly asked.  
  
Spike pulled off his best smug grin. “What do you want to know, pet? Do I have to talk dirty?”  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes feigning exasperation. She sat down on the bed and looked at her lover. “Tell me about you, about the city … there is so much in this world that I haven’t seen yet. I want to know everything.”  
  
The vampire smiled, took her hands. He gently led her to stand up and face him. He brushed his lips with hers and began to unbutton the leather jacket she was wearing. They began to search for each other in the shadows.  
  
“In St. Petersburg Angelus realized something important …”  
  
“What?” she insisted, hot and languid from desire.  
  
She felt Angel’s presence behind her as a dark liquid invading her perception. Then she felt his mouth on her nape, hair and neck, where he had bitten her years before.  
  
She shuddered again and closed her fists.  
  
An atavistic, irrepressible instinct suggested the moves: a punch in the face, the elbow on the chest; breaking the arm of the one behind and attacking the other and make him dust in few seconds. The mind recorded the thought and Buffy parted her lips even more, letting herself be undressed.  
  
There was no demon that didn’t belong to her anymore.  
  
  
  
  
  
Lying between the white sheets with Angel on top of her, Buffy felt reliving her seventeenth birthday. Spike, on her right, was an interesting and pleasant addition.  
  
_The slayer who got hot for vampires – two of them_. But even the judging voices had lost their importance.  
  
Spike’s mouth tasted of wine and chocolate and Angel’s hands were exploring her with such tenderness.  
  
And she was alive. Really alive.  
  
“Love …” she murmured, blinded by pleasure, without specifying whom she was referring to.  
  
Angel kissed her belly and Spike licked her neck before separating from her.  
  
The vampires sat in front of her, in contemplation, and the Slayer blushed.  
  
“This happened in St. Petersburg,” Spike said before turning to his gransire.  
  
Buffy saw them caress each other and exchange an accomplice look. Then she witnessed their passionate kiss and skipped her little feet between the curves of their arms, their ever perfect bodies. She smiled when they turned to her.  


  
  
  
“I thought of death,” Buffy whispered, letting Spike suck her breath. “Apocalypses and life. Dawn and my birthday.”  
  
The vampire laughed. “Did you really think about all that while you were with us? We must suck then.”  
  
Angel grinned, stooped to kiss Buffy and then leaned over to meet Spike’s lips in a perfect symmetry.  
  
“The averted apocalypse and the pleasure,” he said. “Will could write a long poem about that and then hide it from us.”  
  
“Fuck you, Peaches!”  
  
“Fuck me, Spikey,” he provoked him, curving his lips into a sly smile.  
  
Buffy giggled, ready to enjoy the show.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_The averted apocalypse and the pleasure_ , story of Buffy Summers and her insane love for the undead. Angel had strong arms and kissed softly. Spike was passionate and instinctive, moving like dancing.  
  
They always danced. In Sunnydale, in St. Petersburg. In Rome.  
  
There was no place on Earth were they hadn’t gone, battling and loving.  
  
Buffy joined them from time to time and smiled at their adventures. Took hands used to the violence and stroked sweaty heads and mouths stained with blood. Protecting, consoling.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The slayer woke up a few hours before the dawn. Someone had turned on the stove next to the bed and her body was wrapped in a tight embrace.  
  
Spike.  
  
Buffy dodged his arm carefully, without disturbing him. She got out of the bed and put on a light black robe.  
  
Angel was sitting on the couch in the living room, a pencil between his finger and his naked body enlightened by the moon.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Are you drawing us?” Buffy asked.  
  
He nodded without losing his focus. On the white paper there already was Spike’s profile and her sketchy body.  
  
“You inspire me,” he admitted.  
  
Buffy sat down in front of him and looked at admired the selection of tempers on the stool near his feet.  
  
“And these?” she asked curiously. “You never added color before.”  
  
Angel bowed his head. “I never wanted to, nor could I … I don’t know. I feel the need to complete the portraits now.”  
  
Buffy nodded. She looked at Spike who was sleeping in the other room, a fallen angel among white sheets. Then she picked up a brush and took a little bit of green. Angel didn’t notice the color until it was moistening his forehead. Smiled.  
  
“What do you call this one?” Buffy asked.  
  
Angel studied the bit on the brush in the darkness. His eyes reflected a golden glow.  
  
“Chartreuse,” he said.  
  
Buffy smiled. “And this is Veronese, right?” she said, indicating another temper. “Be still. I’ll paint you.”  
  
The vampire put aside his incomplete portrait and offered his face to the slayer. Buffy dipped the brush in a the bottle of water and took the other color. Carefully she drew a line along Angel’s face, starting from the left eye and heading to his lips, following the perfect curve of his cheekbones.  
  
“You’re the same,” she exhaled breathlessly, as the green was shining on his pale skin. “You’re just like the first time I saw you,” she said. Dipped the brush into the black, drew another line. “You’re beautiful.”  
  
“You are beautiful,” Angel replied.  
  
“I’ve changed,” she admitted. “I have a few gray hair and I diligently hide and my skin is less tonic. I’ll be getting worse as time goes by. I’ll become old.”  
  
“Old age is still so far from you,” the vampire whispered. The humanity he desired so seemed more miserable and unhappy in Buffy’s words. “There’s life in you now.” He tried to insist.  
  
“Yes …” she cautiously nodded. “Maybe.”  
  
“There is.” Angel replied, taking her wrists. Through the skin he could feel the blood flowing and the languor it aroused.  
  
“I just wanted to say that …” her voice trembled with emotion. “I’ll never be young and beautiful forever. I won’t escape death for centuries and I accept it, it must be so. God knows how would be worse if somebody forced me to live again … so I’m okay. It’s just that, somehow … somehow I’ve given myself a form of eternal youth. Loving you I know I’ll be forever in the world’s memory. With you my heart will never get old.”  
  
Angel kissed her, savoring the solitary tear on her lips. The green and black mixed on their faces and slayer and vampire laughed.  
  
“Forever,” he said.  
  
It was no longer a promise.  
  
  
  
  
  
Spike moved around and suddenly stopped. He mumbled something in his sleep and frowned. He awoke at once.  
  
Buffy was staring at him sweetly.  
  
“Pet,” he began, still groggy from sleep. “You’re going away, aren’t you?”  
  
Buffy sighed taking his hands. _The averted apocalypse and the pain_. “I have to catch a five o’ clock flight and I deal with a pending issue. Come here, Spike. I want to feel you.”  
  
The vampire leaned forward and took her in his arms. “I love you,” he declared with the solemnity of a romantic knight.  
  
Buffy nodded. “I know. I love you too.”  
  
The stood in silence, in each other’s arms. Angel joined them with freshly made coffee. The slayer straightened her jacked and fixed her hair. She shared one last hug and closed the door of the apartment covered by curtains, place of fearless cats and resistant ivy. Of love that never dies.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Carefully shifting the bouquet in her arms, Buffy picked up the phone and dialed Giles’ number.  


_“About those trolls …”_


End file.
